


A Set of Strings

by Alliterative_Albatross



Series: A Well-Ordered Universe [1]
Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Bad Wolf, Bad Wolf Rose Tyler, Canon Compliant, Dimension Cannon, Dimension Travel, Dimension-Hopping Rose, Episode Fix-It: s02e13 Doomsday, Episode Fix-It: s04e13 Journey's End, Episode: s05e01 The Eleventh Hour, F/M, Fix-It, Gen, Kid Fic, M/M, Multi, Parallel Universes, Post Eleventh Hour, Post-Episode: s04e13 Journey's End, Rose Tyler Loves the Doctor, The Doctor Loves Rose Tyler, The Doctor/Rose Tyler Reunion, Time Travel, Time Travel Fix-It, Timey-Wimey, a setup for something bigger, canon divergence - sort of, this is all you will see of canon doctor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-26
Updated: 2020-04-26
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:40:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23863906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alliterative_Albatross/pseuds/Alliterative_Albatross
Summary: A Rose Tyler meets an Eleventh Doctor. Canon-compliant, set during the Doctor's "quick hop to the moon," at the end of The Eleventh Hour. This is the beginning of new Doctor Who AU that is eight years in the making, friends.
Relationships: Eleventh Doctor/Rose Tyler, Metacrisis Tenth Doctor/Rose Tyler, Ninth Doctor/Rose Tyler, Tenth Doctor/Rose Tyler
Series: A Well-Ordered Universe [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1719739
Comments: 17
Kudos: 141





	A Set of Strings

“This is not the moon,” the Doctor whines in mock-indignation, stepping out from the TARDIS and pulling the door shut behind him. “Naughty girl.” 

The TARDIS only laughs at him. 

Thinnish lips quirk into an awkward grin as he takes in the perfect stillness around him. He’s standing ankle-deep in soft green grass that slopes gently toward a vivid tree-line in the distance. A single sun hangs low in the sky. Far to his left stands a small white church with a cross-topped steeple, a patchwork of farmland beyond. The Doctor doesn’t bother looking right - his gaze is fixated on the forest before him - all yellows and oranges and brilliant reds that sputter like flames in the gentle breeze. 

The warmth of the colors reminds him sharply of home, memories of burning deserts belied by the chill of the wind. But for once, grief doesn’t threaten to choke him. 

“Still on Earth, then,” he muses, not at all disappointed. He glances around, assessing now. New England autumn, he decides. Late 19th century, or perhaps early 20th. Time doesn’t seem to matter as much here.

He sets off for the forest, new shoulders hunched slightly against the breeze. He can't help it. He knows he should return for Amy - he should really, really return for Amy - but this is an unfamiliar body, still thrumming with regeneration energy. He can feel it bubbling in his chest, crawling under his skin, and he’s eager to burn it off. Besides, there’s something in the spice of the wind that implores him to explore further. 

Soon, he promises himself, thinking of the girl-turned-woman who waits. Soon, but not just yet. 

He’s in the wood now. The breeze rustles in the trees, and he imagines them speaking to one another in tremulous whispers. Late afternoon sunlight filters through their leaves, falling in golden patches at his feet. The Doctor lifts his arms, blinking his eyes shut and taking it all in. Why had he never come here? With all the time he’s spent on Earth, it seems silly to have missed this. 

He kicks off his shoes in a flurry, toeing at the ground until the crinkle of leaves gives way to the cold softness of earth between his toes. He buries himself to the metatarsals and sighs.

It feels delicious. 

“What’s the point of new toenails,” he giggles to the stillness, “if you never bother to get them dirty once in a while?”

He’s still laughing, arms raised and a shoe in each hand, marveling at the wonder of the moment, when a breath of wind swells behind him. 

This wind is warmer, too warm, kicking up the fallen leaves in an unnatural spiraling pattern. Energy crackles, humming through his body and raising the hair on his arms. He whirls, still gripping his shoes, and she is there. 

Rose Tyler.

She’s exactly as he last remembers her, same pale hair brushing the shoulders of a blue leather jacket, all wide eyes and full pink lips, still clutching that great bloody gun. 

The Doctor’s breath catches. He knows that she'd scattered herself throughout his timeline, following the TARDIS in a desperate attempt to find him again. He knows this, but somehow, he'd never anticipated meeting her in his future. He was a fool to think that regeneration would dull the pain of losing her. The opposite, actually. Here he is, hurtling forward in this unfamiliar body, all gangly limbs and floppy hair and too-wide chin. Always moving away from her. She won't even know me, he thinks, carefully keeping his expression neutral. 

Oh, it's hard. 

She searches his face, bending to lay her weapon gently on the ground, and then, slowly, she breaks into a smile. "Doctor?”

He knows, knows that his expression doesn’t change, facial muscles not even twitching, but somehow, something gives him away. 

“I knew it was you!” Rose laughs, and before he can react, she is in his arms, nestling into his shoulder. He automatically pulls her in, dropping his shoes and pressing his face into her hair, breathing in the familiar scent of her. Citrus shampoo and laundry detergent and the clinging metallic tang of the void, all mixed with something sweet and natural and uniquely Rose. The ache of losing her will never fade, he realizes. He holds her as tightly as he dares. It is beautiful and painful, healing and hurting, so different now, but still very much the same. 

Rose sniffles and pulls back. The Doctor grips her shoulders. He doesn’t want to let her go, not yet. 

"You aren't my Doctor," she says, gazing at him sadly, eyes swollen and wet. 

Oh, that hurts. It shouldn’t; he’d lost her once and let her go after, had even come to terms with that - does it need saying? - but all the same, something lurches deep in his chest. I'll always be your Doctor, he wants to respond, but the words die in his throat. 

She reads the hurt in his expression and shakes her head. "S'not what I meant," she reassures him, cupping his cheek gently. Then she smiles, tongue poking between teeth, and fingers his bow-tie. "Love this, by the way," she says as she straightens it with a gentle tug. "Very cool."

He grins in this body, he realizes abruptly. Big, goofy, wide grin. How could he have ever doubted her, his Rose? He considers the bow-tie and agrees emphatically. Bow-ties are cool. 

"It is, isn't it?" he says giddily, tapping her nose with a finger. 

Her smile falters, and she settles back into his chest. He threads his fingers through her hair, sensing that she needs a moment to gather herself. He doesn’t mind a bit. 

“I can't stay," she sighs into the tweed of his jacket. 

He’s aware of this, but he tightens his grip anyway. "Timey-wimey," he protests into her hair. 

She pulls back. The cold wind passes between them. "No," she says sadly. "It's not just the timeline. I'm in the wrong universe."

The Doctor blinks, grappling with her statement. “How do you mean, wrong universe? You're here, with me," he reminds her. 

"But I'm not your Rose," she says, pursing her lips in that way she has when she’s adamant. "You aren't my Doctor. You're a parallel."

“Parallel?” Now he is thoroughly confused. “I thought I'd explained that to you," he says, petulant. It isn’t like Rose to forget. He’s pacing now, waving his hands and speaking slowly, recalling the conversation they'd had on the sofa in the TARDIS study. "Time Lords don't exist in alternate universes. We prevented that ages ago. There's only one of me."

“Yeah,” she answers impatiently. “I remember you saying that that Time Lords had a way of keeping themselves from startin’ a new universe with every decision -”

“The Eye of Harmony.”

“That’s right, yeah!” Rose adapts to his interjection with practiced enthusiasm. But her expression sobers quickly. She steps a bit closer, this time fiddling with the lapels of his jacket. “But it was destroyed in the war.”

He stares at her blankly. 

Her expression is almost apologetic, as if in askance to continue. He doesn’t respond, so she takes a deep breath, analyzing him as she speaks. “The Time Lords, the Eye, Doctor, that’s all gone now. You’re the only one left. How can I…” she trails off, frustrated, brow furrowed. 

The Doctor finds himself resisting the urge to unfurrow it with his tongue, an instinct he’d assumed he’d left behind with previous regenerations. 

“Right, so it’s like this,” Rose says, setting her jaw in determination. Her gaze is fire. “Me and the first you, y’know, the one that blew up my job… We never snogged when you had that body, yeah?”

“What? No!” They’d always abided by an unspoken agreement to never speak about Things Between Them, especially in the beginning. The Doctor’s mind flickers to the game station in a panic, memories of Bad Wolf and ‘I think you need a Doctor,’ threatening to consume him. Had he been wrong? Had she remembered?

But Rose just smiles. “Thought not,” she says, pulling her old TARDIS key from under her shirt. “But see, I programed the dimension cannon to find the TARDIS. I used the residual artron energy. Otherwise I’d have been lookin’ for you forever.”

That’s my girl, he just manages not to praise her aloud. Trust Rose Tyler to be so brilliant. 

“But when I found you…” she continues, shaking her hair from her face, “Well, I ran into the TARDIS, and that’s what I saw.” Her gaze darts to his, then back to the ground. “Me and you, the first you. Snoggin’ in the console role. But we’d never done that.” She looks a bit regretful.

The Doctor’s mind is reeling.

“Was a bit weird, at first.” Rose laughs. “But we talked it through, you and me, and, well, me, and we realized what must have happened. That tech, the thing the Time Lords made to keep them from startin’ new universes… it’s gone, now.”

The realization hits him all at once. 

“Oh!” the Doctor gasps, clasping his hands in front of his face and whirling about in a thrill of understanding. One of the many functions of the Eye of Harmony had been to establish a prime universe by ensuring that Gallifrey - and therefore, Time Lords - existed in one reality only. He stills suddenly as the full implications of its destruction begin to sink in. “Oh,” he breathes again. Every decision he’d ever made since the Time War capable of spawning a whole new Doctor! 

He’d never snogged Rose Tyler, not in that body, not like he’d wanted to. But somewhere, in some universe, a version of him had. He wonders briefly how many of him there are, and if they've all lost their Roses. He hopes not. 

When he finally turns back to her, she’s grinning. “Now you’ve got it,” she says, tongue dancing at the edge of her teeth. 

A shrill beeping cuts off his reply. Rose sighs and pulls her dimension cannon out of her pocket. “All charged up.” The regret in her voice is palpable. "Goodbye, Doctor."

The Doctor pales at the sight of the dreaded yellow button in her hand. He isn't ready for her to go. "Rose..."

She shakes her head and steps away from him. "I can't stay," she says, swallowing hard. "Defender of the Earth an' all." She smiles a sad smile at him, and his hearts break. 

"But Rose," he lurches forward as if to grip her hands again, voice cracking, eyes wide and shining. He has so many questions. So much he could say. Should say. But what comes out is, "How did you know me?"

Rose turns back to him, smiling shyly, but he can see his same longing echoed in her eyes. “I knew you right off.” She glances down at her hands, tugging nervously at the cuff of her sleeve. "My son," she says softly. "He has your eyes. Exact same color.” 

Her gaze rises to meets his, and something passes between them.

The Doctor gasps, and quick as blinking, her fingertips are brushing his temple. After all this time, the connection between them is as natural as breathing, but he doesn’t have time to think on that. Rose is flooding him with memories, image after image of a curious dark-haired little boy with sea-green eyes. The Doctor freezes, caught in the onslaught. It is an instant and an eternity, and when it is over, he knows. 

Oh, he knows. 

When he comes back to himself, she is gone.

**Author's Note:**

> This is it, my friends: the premise for "A Well-Ordered Universe," a Doctor Who AU eight years in the making.
> 
> "A Set of Strings" was inspired by "The Beast Below." Amy asks the Doctor if he's a parent, and his face says everything. Title filched from the String Theory, a physics/math concept that's way over my head. But that's the whole MO of sci-fi, right? Read a couple of advanced wikipedia articles, understand every third word, apply it directly to your creative concept, and boom. Science-y stuff. Sounds great!
> 
> That's what I'm going with, anyway.
> 
> You guys, I desperately need a beta - or at least a fandom friend! Find me on Tumblr, Alliterative-Albatross. I'd love to talk Doctor Who with you!


End file.
